“…the darkness opening into morning Is more than enough…
Think of Sheba approaching the kingdom of Solomon. Do you think she had to ask, ‘Is this the place?'”
from ‘I wake close to morning’
I find dawn a wonderful, magical time in Shropshire, at all times of year. This photo of The Wrekin was taken one early morning in August. Now it is May there is are the countless songs and calls of the birds’ daily dawn chorus.
Spring brings such beauty amongst the sadness and suffering of the world.
Mary Oliver’s poem ‘Whistling Swans” responds to nature and considers the differet kind of “prayers” that can be said:
“…prayers fly in all directions…
Even when the swans are flying north and making
such a ruckus of noise, God is surely listening
and understanding…
the swans know about as much we do about
the whole business…
So listen to them and watch them, singing as they fly.
Take from it what you can.”
from ‘Whistling Swans’
My encounter was with Canada geese on the Severn, not whistling swans, but I took from it the beauty of the spring morning, the power of the sunlight, the forces of life and goodness in the world.
And maybe the geese know about as much we do about the whole business…
Canada Geese, River Severn, Shropshire, March 2022
The new life of the spring seems to have the power to inject energy and new life within us all.
This amazing sunrise had to be photographed: the swirling mists over the Severn at Atcham, the amazing light that illuminated the whole world, it seemed, in a burst of colour.
I had been looking for a suitable scene to go with a beautiful poem I had read recently called ‘Bazougey’ (the name of a dog).
Sadly, the dog has passed away, but when spring comes, it brings hope:
“Come with me into the woods where spring is
advancing … See how the violets are opening …
the streams gleaming…What does it make you think of?
His shining curls, his honest eyes, his
beautiful barking.”
from ‘Bazougey’ by Mary Oliver
I hardly need to add anything. But this spring sunrise also brought me some hope.
There is a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver about a time when her dog ran off, which ends:
“…who am I to summon his hard and happy body
his four white feet that love to wheel and pedal…
to come back to walk at my side, obedient.”
from ‘The Dog Has Run Off Again’
She recognises the wild, natural freedom that her dog loves – that is more precious than simply getting him to walk to heel!
I was down by the River Severn recently and saw some of my favourite colourful ducks there – goosanders. They are bright and beautiful, especially in the spring sunshine, but extremely shy. And as you can see from the photograph, it wasn’t long before they decided to assert their wild freedom, just like Mary Oliver’s dog!
And I had a similar thought. I do enjoy watching them and photographing them. But who am I to control their “one wild and precious life“?
Goosander taking off on the River Severn, Shropshire, March 2022
There is a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver where she focuses on her dog, and his simple intuitive longing to know affection:
“he turns upside down, his four paws in the air…
Tell me you love me, he says.
Tell me again…
Over and over he gets to ask it.
I get to tell.”
from ‘Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night (Percy 3)’
Today we are so aware of the need for love – for refugees, for the dispossessed, for the homeless. We are so aware of the need for the power of love to displace the force of evil and hate.
A few months ago I was walking along the ridge of a Shropshire hill, called Stiperstones. The ridge is punctuated by exposed concentrations of bare rock, and the strange atmosphere these create have led to stories of the connection of evil with the place (the largest mound is called “Devil’s Chair”).
But as I walked with the sun setting in the west, I could only think of being blessed by being in this remote, wild place. I was like Mary Oliver’s dog, and it felt like the world was saying “I love you” back to me. Of course there was no audible voice and my mind was responding to ideas I had been exploring. And yet love is a perennial and powerful voice. Perhaps themost powerfulvoice in the universe?
Although life brings great challenges, there are also great joys.
Lent has begun but joy is not something that has to be given up!
There is a lovely Mary Oliver poem about her dog:
“…Running here, running there, excited…
the pleasures of the body in this world.
Oh, I could not have said it better myself.”
from ‘The Storm’
There is so much to be anxious and fearful about at the moment, but anxiety and fear themselves do not promote generosity and caring. We also need to be open-hearted and compassionate.
The photograph shows a recent sunrise in Shropshire, UK, over our most famous hill – The Wrekin.
The sun rose over the horizon just afterwards, but the colours of the sky gave me joy, as did the synchronicity of the flock of rooks who decided to move across the view in their contrasting dark silhouettes.
I felt the pleasure deep in my body, as we do other pleasures. And one of the things I am hoping to give up in Lent is any narrow-minded materialism that makes me forget my emotionality and spirituality, my joy, my pleasure in being human.
And I hope that will make me also a more caring and compassionate person.
Feeling alone, feeling abandoned – these are amongst the most terrible feelings we can experience as human beings.
And the opposite is true – a sense of belonging, of fellowship, of being loved – these are some of the most life-affirming feelings, what makes us feel on top of the world, confident, capable of realising all our potential.
For the poet Mary Oliver, nature often brings her that sense of consolation and belonging:
“I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying …
Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts…”
from ‘What Gorgeous Thing’
I wrote the following poem when I lived in Dorset, and had a similar feeling of closeness and consolation from nature:
Thrush hurls her song
in curls and spirals and dead straight lines
.
The trees stand as still as time
The hills look down benignly
.
The wind converses enigmatically
The river merely suggests itself so quietly
.
Even the buttercups
Nod their heads with glee –
.
I feel I am among
such blessed company.
And I wonder who – or what – are your “blessed company”?
These beautiful lines by Mary Oliver are more than a “sort of” meditation (her title of the poem!).
They speak to me about her uniqueness as a human being – all of our uniqueness as individual, differentiated people – and I love how she links her “sort of” meditation with lounging under a tree.
The photograph below was of a unique moment recently. The sun was setting as I looked out over the floods of the River Severn, and then I noticed the beautiful, unique reflections of the trees (they are normally standing in a field!).
How wonderful to be who we are – our own thoughts, our own experiences, our unique, glorious “stuff”.
Mary Oliver captures one particular kind in her poem ‘Drifting’:
“It’s wonderful to walk along like that,
thought not the usual intention to reach an answer
but merely drifting.
Like clouds that only seem weightless
but of course are not…”
We could not live without the clouds that drift through our skies.
And we need different types of thinking other than logical reason – ‘drifting’ thoughts can be just as valuable and “really important”as Mary Oliver goes on to say.
I wrote this poem after being inspired by the sky and the clouds – they also seemed to speak to me.
Lif4Gd 